One Month and Counting
by Galiko
Summary: The saga of meeting, hate-grudge-admiring Midorima Shintarou, getting over it, and becoming sort of oddly fascinated, as told by one Takao Kazunari. (In other words, Midorima is a problem, as he always tends to be.)


Midorima Shintarou is unlike anyone-any_thing_ Takao has ever seen.

Teikou in general, of course, is in a league far above the rest, especially this year when it is littered with prodigies. Takao's middle school isn't exactly known for basketball, and their team is nothing to shout home about, but they aren't _bad_, and Takao knows he's quite good.

Teikou is far better than quite good.

Probably, he should be worrying himself silly about one Akashi Seijuurou, Takao's fellow point guard and intensely, _immensely_ talented at that. The thing is that there isn't much to see there (people that talented simply don't show everything at once), and what is the _point_ of looking at someone like Akashi Seijuurou when it's far better to look at someone like Midorima Shintarou-or rather, that odd synchronicity that the two of them share on the court.

Takao sort of has to wonder what it would be like, having someone like Midorima Shintarou to send a pass to.

The problem is that he isn't an idiot.

Takao wishes he were, sometimes. He at least wishes he were like his mother, smart but with no inclination to _use it_. Maybe then he would have gotten into a lesser school, one without prestige and years of standing in both athletics and academics, and then maybe, _maybe_, things wouldn't have ended up quite like this.

The sight of none other than _Midorima Shintarou_ standing in the first years' gymnasium is enough to make him groan, and a few of his friends ask him if he's dying. Probably, is the answer. He's probably, most definitely dying, or will be dying very soon, because the _irony_ of it all is enough to make him want to bang his head into something rock solid.

That lasts about an hour, in which Takao tortures himself with laps and firmly resigns to be _okay_ with this. There's no point in holding grudges against someone that will inevitably be his teammate (and oh, he'll be a starter, too, he's practiced hard enough and will keep practicing and _it's going to happen_).

_God_, but Midorima is _weird_, though.

"Why do you even bother _talking_ to him?" another first year whispers after practice. "He's awful. The worst, really. He's always carrying around weird shit-"

"His lucky items, I know," Takao says with a roll of his eyes, recalling their very distinct first meeting. "He's already, uh, informed me. About that."

"Takao-kun has the patience of a saint," another boy says with a nod. "What a trooper. _Someone's_ gotta put up with Midorima-san, at least."

"Saint Takao!"

"At least make it _cute_," is Takao's whining protest. "Saint Kazu-chan, something like _that_-"

"A true martyr for our cause!"

He's elected to be Midorima's _keeper_ amongst the first years that day, though there's not much to make that stick when most of them drop out in the first week of grueling practices (most all of them do within the month, and Takao sort of forgets being elected to that position when he naturally ends up trailing Midorima's heels, anyway).

(There isn't much to _put up with_, either, when he finds it all so funny).

(There's even less to put up with when Midorima gets a very confused expression on his face when Takao _insists_ he will be sending him some very good, capable, _solid_ passes in the next few practices, just wait, _you'll see, I'll prove I'm good enough.)_

"Kazu-nii-chan is gross."

Weekends that his little sister is actually home and not permanently shipped off to her academy are troublesome, especially when he wants to rot on a soft surface after sweating hard and disgustingly for hours. She perches above him, staring down at him with wide, golden eyes, and Takao reaches up to pull one of her pigtails.

"Never play basketball," he tells her resolutely. "Especially not with a guy named Midorima Shintarou. No matter how long his eyelashes are."

Slowly, firmly, his sister nods.

Takao is _used_ to being well-liked and popular. It's a natural thing, no matter if it sounds sort of arrogant to say, but that's just how it always has been.

Midorima seems to kinda be the opposite.

There's only so much that can be done about that, and Takao tries to mitigate it, for the most part (god, it's only been a month, look at his life, look at his choices). Maybe it's the residual election of being Midorima's keeper, but mostly, he just doesn't like seeing _anyone_ picked on. It's obnoxious, at best (and doesn't make them stand out in a popularity contest, as far as Takao is concerned).

It's always with the lucky items on the team, and Takao has to admit he's sort of taken to keeping a spare (or two, on bad days), so long as they aren't _too_ cumbersome. Today, thank god, it's a keychain, and he subtly reattaches one to Midorima's phone to replace the one some other shitty first year had taken off with in a fit of giggles.

Takao tiredly wonders about the paradox of weird people always being the ones that get picked on, and if they'd really be so _weird_ if they weren't picked on this much in the first place.

Takao is pretty sure he pukes more than anyone else in the starters, and he's the smallest guy, so that _can't_ be too good.

"Get a grip," Miyaji tells him, clapping him on the back and making him hurl all the more. "We're _all_ dying here."

Takao has half the mind to turn around and throw up on Miyaji's brand new shoes, but the water fountain is within easier reach. Just as he suddenly, sorely wishes for a headband, or a barrette, or _anything_ he could steal from his little sister, there are large, long-fingered hands (five of which are meticulously taped) holding his hair back, silently and a little bit gingerly, considering it's the contents of his stomach being tossed about.

If he wasn't as sick as a dog, he would've smiled.

"I'm sorry my little sister was here," Takao apologizes for the umpteenth time. Of _course_ she would be, of _course_ she would ruin one of the first few times he manages to drag Midorima home with him. Of course she would zero in on his perfectly manicured nails and desire to add improvements of her own (in the form of hot pink), and of course Midorima would be awful at refusing children (it's kind of adorable).

The only upside is that Midorima insists that _he_ fix it, and Takao finds himself with the rare opportunity to grab at the other boy's hands, methodically rubbing away nail polish. He _does_ have really nice nails-nice fingers-nice hands. Nice everything. Takao tilts his head, slowing down with each fingernail that he wipes clean, and Midorima doesn't seem to notice until it's all done, and Takao nitpicks for all it's worth (just to keep touching). "Takao," he stiffly says, "I think you're finished."

"Yeah. Probably," Takao agrees, and it's _bad_ of him how he leans in and dares to press his lips to the knuckles of Midorima's left hand, then down to his fingers. He hopes it comes off as gallant, or at best sort of cute, especially when he can taste acetone on his lips afterwards and he's not sure if it's disgust or odd, confused pleasure that flickers over Midorima's face very briefly. "For good luck," he tries to play off. _God, guys are a lot weirder than girls. Or maybe it's just Shin-chan._

"… One can never have enough," Midorima mutters, and Takao definitely considers that a success.

Even if Shuutoku is an all boys school, the neighboring girls academy tends to spill over. Not that it matters much, with all of the _issues_ within Shuutoku itself.

"Can I skip school on Valentine's Day?"

Midorima gives him a look. "Absolutely not. Also, it is hardly like you to miss out on free sweets."

Takao looks at him sourly. "If I take the stuff, I'm basically expected to hand it back over on White Day. Skip with me, Shin-chan."

"No."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"My horoscope hardly advises for that today. Or any day." Midorima looks to the side. "Especially on Valentine's Day."

"Liar. Oha Asa doesn't go that far ahead-"

"If you aren't in school on Valentine's Day, I will be extremely annoyed."

Takao opens his mouth, then shuts it again with a silent _oh_.

Well.

(He's apparently still grinning like a stupid idiot when practice rolls around, because Miyaji informs him as much and sends a ball straight into his face.)

What Takao really considers a success is when Midorima awkwardly, irritably proposes that they practice after school hours.

Takao can't deny that he's eager. He's never _seen_ how Midorima actually stretches his legs, so to speak, and it's obviously outdoors, because Shuutoku's general facilities simply aren't equipped to deal with practicing the sort of shots that he makes.

47 of them later on a dimly lit court in the middle of the night, and he's still eager to keep watching.

"… You're amazing."

Midorima looks at him in that Midorima-ish way of his, pushes his glasses up, and very calmly says, "I know."

Takao makes a point of sitting down lest his heart kind of thud out of his chest and send him literally head over heels, because it isn't arrogance if there's _backing_ to it, and god, if there isn't a lot of _backing_.

If he has anything to do with it, the backing for that confidence is just going to get worse (better).


End file.
